Metamorphosis

by Sesh Heri

  “Where do we go?” Jack asked. “Not back to the intersection?”

  “No,” I said. “Bess wouldn’t still be waiting there.”

  “I wouldn’t wait,” Charmian said. “No woman would.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jack said, “some women would, but no lady would.”

  “Drop me at the Orpheum,” I said. “She’s either in the theatre or gone to our hotel room.”

  “Where’s your hotel?” Jack asked.

  “The Adams,” I said.

  “Oh,” Jack said. “Right there at the theatre, eh? You heard him driver! Over to the theatre!”

  “Say,” I said, “do you know a florist around here? I think I better get some flowers.”

  “Driver!” Jack snapped. “Detour to the nearest florist. We’re in need of emergency flowers.”

  At the curb in front of the theatre our driver pulled the taxi to a stop. I clutched a large bouquet of roses in my left hand and stuffed a box of candy under my left arm. I reached under the bouquet and held out my right hand to Jack and Charmian.

  “You’re a very bad boy,” Charmian said, slapping my wrist.

  “I know,” I said sheepishly.

  “I say, ‘Never apologize,’” Jack said, shaking my hand. “You’re going about this all wrong.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Charmian said. “You could learn from Houdini.”

  “Oh, no,” Jack said, “Never. We won’t come up, of course. But we’re in town all this week.”

  “You are?” I asked. “What brings you here?”

  Jack and Charmian looked at each other and then back at me.

  “Why, you, of course, silly!” Charmian said to me. “We’ve come to see you!”

  “And the fair over in the city,” Jack said. “We want you and Bess to come with us tomorrow morning to see the fair. Have you been over there yet?”

  “I had a glimpse of it a couple of weeks ago when I was playing San Francisco,” I said. “Bess didn’t get to see much, though. She wasn’t feeling well that week.”

  “Well, we can all take a quick look in the morning,” Jack said. “Then Charmian and I must run up to Santa Rosa.”

  “What’s happening up there?” I asked.

  “My sister is finalizing her divorce,” Jack said, “and I’m going to testify. You could come with us, see the country.”

  “I have a matinee at two tomorrow,” I said.

  “That does slice the bread thin,” Jack said. “You can at least come with us to the fair in the morning.”

  “I can if the Boss agrees,” I said.

  “Oh,” Jack said, “so your wife’s the boss?”

  “She is now,” Charmian said.

  “Here’s our telephone number at our hotel,” Jack said, taking out a pad of paper and a pencil. “Give us a ring if the wife is agreeable. We’ll meet here in front of the theatre at six in the morning and take the ferry across the bay.”

  “Six?” I asked. “That’s fine with me, but a bit early for my wife.”

  “The fair’s front gates open at seven in the morning,” Jack said. “That gives us several hours to cram in all the exhibits and rides we can before noon. I’m a crammer. How ‘bout you?”

  “I’m a crammer, too,” I said. “I’ll talk to Bess. We both love fairs.”

  Jack wrote down his telephone number on the pad of paper, and then tore off the top sheet and handed it to me. I took it.

  “I better go,” I said.

  “Oh,” Charmian said, “you certainly better.”

  I opened the door of the taxi and got out and stood on the curb.

  “Say, Jack,” I said.

  Jack tossed his head back at me.

  I asked, “We haven’t met before anywhere— have we?”

  “Not in this life,” Jack said, smiling.

  Charmian smiled also. I gave a nod, closed the door, and Jack and Charmian’s taxi pulled away down the rain-soaked street.

  I went into the Adams and climbed the stairs carrying the bouquet and box of candy. I got to our room and unlocked the door. I pushed the door open.

  Bess was seated on the couch, looking directly at me. I took off my hat and threw it to her. It landed on the floor at her feet. She cast her eyes down to my hat, then back up to me.

  I held out the bouquet, and the box of candy.

  Bess kept looking at me.

  I came in, and closed the door behind me.

  “At least you didn’t throw my hat back at me,” I said.

  Bess kept looking at me. It seemed that she wasn’t going to say a word to me. But she finally said, “It wasn’t worth the effort.”

  In our circus days when we quarreled, I would throw my hat on to our cot in our sleeping quarters. If Bess threw it back, it meant for me to leave. I’d take my hat, go for a walk, and come back later, and throw the hat again. If the hat stayed on the bed, we’d make up; if she threw the hat out again, it meant I had to go for another walk.

  I picked up my hat where it lay on the floor.

  “I’ll just put these on the table here,” I said, referring to the bouquet and candy.

  “I don’t care where you put them,” Bess said. “Throw them out the window, for all I care.”

  I sat the bouquet and box of candy on the table and placed my hat beside them.

  “Bess,” I said.

  I turned around and looked at her. She was still looking at the door where I came in.

  “Bess,” I said. “Please. Look at me. Please.”

  Bess didn’t move.

  I went to her and knelt down in front of her.

  “Bess,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  Bess glanced down at me, but then her eyes went back up.

  “I know I’ve done something very wrong,” I said.

  “You don’t know anything,” Bess said. “You’re just being your usual self.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “You’re selfish, Harry,” Bess said. “And blind.”

  I bowed my head.

  “Yes,” I said. “I know. I know I’ve failed you many times.”

  “You fail yourself,” Bess said. “Do you think because thousands of people cheer your name you’re something big? Do you think that’s what it’s all about? If you can’t treat me, your own wife, decently, if you can’t treat your assistants decently, your family decently— what are you?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “Don’t sell me,” Bess said. “Oh, God, please don’t sell me like you do everybody else!”

  “I’m not selling you,” I said. “I know what you’re saying. I know it’s true. But I can’t help it, Bess, God forgive me, I can’t help it! The work takes everything I’ve got— everything— and sometimes even everything’s not enough! It takes my days, my hours, my minutes; it takes my thoughts, and my feelings, and my nerves— it consumes me! And then all I can see is the work— the work! Yet if I don’t follow the work— if I don’t follow it— I’m nothing! Nothing! Can’t you understand that?”

  “No!” Bess shouted. “And I’ll never understand it! Why can’t you just live— like everybody else?”

  “Because I can’t!” I said. “If I could, I wouldn’t be me! You knew what I was like when you married me!”

  “I didn’t know anything!” Bess said. “I was a child. How could I’ve known anything?”

  “Are you sorry you married me?” I asked.

  Bess looked down at me.

  “No,” she said. “God help me, no.”

  “You’re not sorry?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because I love you, damn it! I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  The tears rolled down out of Bess’ eyes. Her shoulders raised and lowered as she broke down. I sat up on the couch beside her and pulled her close into my arms and rocked her back and forth as she cried.

  “I’m going to make it up to you,” I said. “I’m going
to do better.”

  “No you’re not,” she said. “You’ll never do better.”

  “Yes, I will,” I said. “It’s just you and me, now. You’re all I’ve got, really. I’m going to take hold, Bess, take hold of our lives. I’m going to make things right. You’ll see Bess. From now on, things will be different.”

  “How?” Bess asked.

  “Somehow,” I said. “Somehow. Everyday from now on, you and I are going to take time to just be together.”

  “Harry,” Bess said, “we’re always together.”

  “With other people around,” I said. “We’ll take time just to be together by ourselves. Like right now.”

  Bess had stopped crying. We sat silently for a moment, and then I asked, “How long did you wait?”

  “About five minutes,” she said. “But I knew you wouldn’t show up from the beginning. You never do.”

  “Never?” I asked.

  Bess shook her head. I thought about it a moment, and realized she was right.

  “Bess,” I said, “you know I can never really change.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “But I’m going to try to do better,” I said. “And you know the real truth about us, don’t you? I love you. I love you. I love you— just as much as you love me.”

  I took her head in my hands and kissed her. The couch was very comfortable, and we just sat there with our arms around each other, for we had plenty of time before the matinee.

  I did not dare tell Bess about meeting Jack and Charmian just then. But later that afternoon, after the matinee, I casually mentioned to her that I had encountered the Londons out on the street and that they had invited us to accompany them to the fair the next day.

  “Would you like to go?” I asked.

  “Oh,” Bess said, “I want to see more of the fair. But I wanted it to be just the two of us.”

  “You and I might go back together on another day,” I said. “But it would be good if we could go tomorrow with the Londons. It’s good for us to make more of a contact with the literary world. You know my ambitions to be recognized as a writer.”

  “Why, Harry,” Bess said. “You’re really serious about being writer, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You know, I can’t go on like this forever. Right now, my body feels like it’s been stampeded by elephants.”

  “Harry!” Bess gasped. “Lie down on the couch! Right now!”

  “I shouldn’t have said a word,” I replied, but I sat down on the couch in the dressing room.

  “Feet up!” Bess ordered.

  I put my feet up on the couch and lay my head back on a pillow.

  “Well,” I said, “then why don’t you hand me my mail. You’ll let me finish reading my mail, won’t you?”

  “Read!” Bess said, handing me a bundle of letters.

  “So what do you say?” I asked. “Should I telephone the Londons and tell them we’ll go to the fair with them?”

  “Do I have to pretend to have read his books?” Bess asked with a frown.

  “No,” I said. “Absolutely not. They’re not that kind of people. You tell them whatever you want to tell them. And….”

  “What?” Bess asked.

  “I’m proud of you, Bess,” I said. “I’d take you with me anywhere to see anyone— even the President of the United States— even Jack London.”

  “Oh,” Bess asked, “Jack London is bigger than the President?”

  “Well,” I said, “they’re both pretty big. But for my money, I’d rather go to the fair with Jack London.”

  “All right,” Bess said. “We’ll go to the fair tomorrow— with the Londons.”

  “You’ll like them,” I said.

  “I will?” Bess asked.

  I nodded.

  It was still dark when Bess and I came down the stairs of our hotel and out on to the street at six a.m. the next morning. Jack and Charmian were already waiting at the curb in a big taxi with its motor running. Bess and I got in and sat down in the seats facing the Londons, and Jack said: “We’re off!”

  Again the non-stop conversation ensued between Jack, Charmian, and me, as the driver sped through the streets of Oakland toward the pier. Jack said that he and Charmian had attended my evening performance the previous night.

  “Why didn’t you come backstage to see me after the show?” I asked.

  “We thought you might be tired,” Charmian said.

  “Not at all!” I said.

  I glanced over to Bess, who sat silently, watching the three of us. Charmian noticed, and said to Bess:

  “We are so sorry about yesterday.”

  “Yesterday?” Bess asked.

  “Keeping Houdini from you,” Charmian said. “It was our fault.”

  “Oh,” Bess said. “Is that so?”

  The conversation in the car came to a stop.

  Jack started it again.

  “Houdini is a man,” Jack said. “Men forget. Women remember. It is axiomatic, has been since the dawn of time.”

  “Men are beasts,” Charmian said.

  “True, true,” Jack said. “Mostly work beasts— to serve the desires of women.”

  “To serve your own desires, you mean,” Charmian said.

  Jack let out a peal of laughter.

  “You see?” Jack said. “She doesn’t let me get away with a thing. That’s why I never apologize. If she would be kinder and gentler, I would be kinder and gentler.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” Charmian said. “Men are beasts and that is that.”

  “We are only a little out of the cave,” Jack said. “Civilization is a precarious, fragile thing. Today we shall see the flowering of our present civilization. Perhaps we all shall learn something. Is man ascending to angeldom or descending to beastdom? And more importantly— does it matter?”

  A purplish light peeked through the clouds overhead as we reached the ferry pier. We got out of the cab, Jack paid the driver, and we all went over and got into one of the streetcars that rolled out on to the three-mile long pier to the ferry terminal. This was called the “Key Pier” because the pier was shaped like a key’s shaft and its ferry slips configured like a key’s teeth. This giant “key” stretched out across the bay toward San Francisco, poised as if waiting to spring open some stupendous lock guarding some titanic mystery; and perhaps it was such a key to such a lock, for what is the beginning of any journey but the insertion of a gigantic key into the titanic lock of Fate?

  When we reached the end of the pier, we got out of the car and went through the terminal. We purchased our tickets and then boarded the San Francisco ferry. Inside, on the lower deck, we all ordered steaming coffee at a refreshment counter. We took our seats by the windows still black with night. This lower deck area was quite filled with people. There were many families with small children.

  “Looks as though a lot of other people had the same idea we did,” I said.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “Lots of other crammers. There’s lots to cram. It can’t all be seen in a day, but we’ll see the best parts.”

  “I’d like to see where Lincoln Beachy was killed,” I said.

  “It was out on the mud flats,” Jack said. “I’ll show you.”

  Charmian said, “Jack’s a veritable walking encyclopedia on the fair. We were there on Opening Day, and we’ve been back several times since, and what we haven’t seen, Jack hears from our friends.”

  “Let’s not bore them with facts and figures,” Jack said. “That’s not what the fair is all about, anyway.”

  “I saw Charles Carter the other day,” I interjected.

  “Did you now?” Jack asked.

  “He told me about Star Rover,” I said.

  Jack laughed.

  “I just finished reading it,” I said.

  “Splendid!” Jack said.

  “It was quite a story,” I said. “Not what I expected.”

  “Not what anyone expected,” Charmian said.

  “It seemed to ope
n up vistas for me,” I said.

  “Ah,” Jack said, “vistas have opened for me, I’ll tell you— whole fields of new visions— nothing less than a complete revolution in my thinking in these last few years. Considering what has happened to Charmian and me, it was inevitable. Tell me, have you ever read any of Jung, Carl Jung?”

  “Young?” I asked. I had never heard of Carl Jung up until then. I looked over to Bess. She was watching me cautiously. I turned back to Jack.

  “The name— “ I stopped myself. “No. I’ve never heard the name. Who is he?”

  “A scientist,” Jack said. “He works in the new field of psychology. He has some very interesting ideas. In some ways they are new— new to our present culture. But they are really very old. They come from ancient philosophies that have long been neglected by our major scholars and universities.”

  “Did your reading of Young influence your writing of Star Rover?” I asked.

  “Oh, definitely,” Jack said.

  “The main character in Star Rover,” I said. “Carter tells me that you based him on a real man.”

  “Oh,” Jack said, “a very real man. Ed Morrell is his name, a man such as other men say can only exist in storybooks, a man like you. He is very much flesh and blood and exceeds the storybooks, mine included. Perhaps I can arrange for you to meet with him while you’re here.”

  “Did Morrell experience all those different lives like in your novel?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Jack said. “And something just as fantastic— perhaps even more fantastic. While Ed Morrell was strapped in a straitjacket in his cell in San Quentin, he escaped in his spirit body— his astral body.”

  “Surely he was dreaming,” I said.

  “It was not a dream,” Jack said. “After Ed Morrell was released from San Quentin, he began traveling the country lecturing on his prison experiences. I hired a young woman writer who was a capable stenographer to follow him from town to town to take down his lectures and anything else of interest that he might say.”

  “You were fascinated with this man,” I said.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Jack said. “Now here is the most interesting thing: It turns out that this lady writer— the stenographer— was known to Ed Morrell. He had visited her before.”